


Sleepytime Tea

by circletrapped



Series: Writing Mando S3/Book of Boba Because Favreau and Filoni Aren't Doing It Fast Enough [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Ficlet, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, he's just such a Good Dad, i miss him every damn day, i spent too much time on the wookieepedia article on tea while writing this, i'm making you feel things about jango fett today, mom i'm projecting onto my comfort characters again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circletrapped/pseuds/circletrapped
Summary: "The entire palace was still and not a sound could be heard.  Boba had nothing on his mind in particular, but a sect of his brain was ringing the alarm and wouldn’t stop."Boba is having trouble falling asleep. Din, as he does most things, helps remedy this without even realizing it.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: Writing Mando S3/Book of Boba Because Favreau and Filoni Aren't Doing It Fast Enough [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150397
Comments: 14
Kudos: 276





	Sleepytime Tea

Boba was no stranger to sleepless nights. Sometimes it would be the stress of whatever job he had. Other times it would be a nightmare about the death of his father. On more than one occasion, an annoying noise on his ship would keep him awake until he fixed it.

But tonight, it was simply one of _those_ nights. The entire palace was still and not a sound could be heard. He had nothing on his mind in particular, but a sect of his brain was ringing the alarm and _wouldn’t stop._ He had resorted to throwing himself in every which direction in a desperate attempt to get in a position comfortable enough to trick himself into calming down. He had finally given up and now sat upright. He didn’t bother checking how much time passed; he knew that knowing how much sleep he was losing would just make him angry.

Boba glanced over his left shoulder at the figure that resided beside him. Din was laying on his side with his back facing Boba, resting his head on his arms. He watched as Din’s chest slowly rose and fell. Boba drew his brows together. Din’s breathing was too deliberate to be natural. And the silence in the bedroom was suspicious given that the air was usually filled with gentle snoring – the kind that would normally be able to lull Boba right back to sleep when he was stirred from his sleep.

Din was feigning sleep, perhaps to alleviate any guilt Boba would have about waking him up.

Boba let out a soft sigh under his breath, certainly not spared the guilt of keeping his partner awake despite Din’s best efforts. It was bad enough that _one_ of them was losing valuable rest. He swept a few strands of hair out of Din’s closed eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his head before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing.

He winced as the cold air brushed over the scars on his exposed chest. As quietly as he could, he slipped past the threshold of their bedroom and down the hallway to a kitchen. He flicked on the artificial lights, which caused his eyes to shut tight before adjusting to the brightness. He took his kettle, which he’d inherited from his father, off a shelf that he could hardly reach. He swiftly looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody could see his struggle. He was relieved to confirm that he was the only one moving about in the dead of night.

He poured water into the kettle and flicked the switch on it, immediately producing a less-than-quiet hiss as it began to heat up. Boba had been putting off putting new batteries in it. It was so old that every time he performed any kind of maintenance on it, it would give him a minuscule yet extremely annoying electric shock.

Yet he couldn’t seem to let it go. After all, he had many fond memories with that kettle.

As he opened the cupboard where he stored the variety of teas he had acquired, he couldn’t help but cringe as the hinges creaked. _Everything in this kriffing palace is too old,_ Boba thought as he brought down the basket that held large packets of teas and rifled through them. _I wish I had the time to go through the place and fix all the faulty doors and lights._ And that was hardly any of the abundance of decay the palace had undergone over what looked like centuries.

“Make sure you pick one without caffeine this time.”

Din’s voice was so heavy with sleep that Boba almost hadn’t recognized it. But once his brain actually processed the sentence, a small smile crept on his face. The last time Boba had tried to remedy his insomnia with tea, he had mistakenly brewed himself a cup of Tarine tea, which had the opposite effect to that which he’d desired. Boba’s eyes fell on a packet labeled _Cassius_ and he pulled it from the basket.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Boba muttered as he opened the packet and slowly poured the ground leaves and spices into a diffuser. He heard Din’s footsteps slowly shift closer to him until his head was resting on Boba’s shoulder. The smile on Boba’s face grew as he leaned his head against Din’s.

“I wasn’t sleeping that great anyway,” Din sighed, his lips barely brushing against the base of Boba’s neck as he spoke. “I’m sure something else would’ve waken me up anyway.”

“You want me to make you some?”

Din lifted his chin off of Boba’s shoulder. When Boba turned to face him, he saw that Din was bringing a mug down from the same shelf that the kettle had sat on. Boba noticed that he only took one.

“No, thank you. I don’t particularly enjoy hot teas.”

“No?”

“I always find a way to burn my tongue with tea. Every single time.”

Boba let out a soft chuckle, maintaining a low volume that was appropriate for the silence that surrounded the two of them. He dropped the diffuser into the mug right as the kettle clicked, signaling that the water inside it had reached a boil. He lifted the kettle and poured the water into the mug, instantly being hit by the pleasant aroma of the spices being lifted by the steam pouring from the cup.

Boba brought the cup to his lips, cautious not to drink too quickly and suffer the same fate as Din. With that kettle as old as it was, it rarely brought the water to the right temperature anymore – it was always too cold or too hot. But this time, Boba had gotten lucky and the tea was a pleasant warmth that ran down his entire body. He closed his eyes as he took in the feeling.

When he opened them again, the first thing he saw was Din openly pouting.

“It’s cold,” he whined.

Boba smiled and rolled his eyes, using his free hand to grasp one of Din’s. Din turned out the light as they crossed into the hallway, leaving them both to awkwardly stumble through the darkness as they attempted to navigate back to their bedroom without spilling any hot beverages.

Eventually they made it back to their bed, where Din wasted no time getting back under the covers. Boba was positive that Din had been in colder environments before and had done just fine, but even he could admit that they were both a little more prone to sensitivity when it was just the two of them. Din would complain about being cold, Boba would complain about pain from some old injury flaring up. It was almost a secret that they kept for one another. Perhaps because of the way that Boba would immediately drape an old cape of his over Din’s shoulders or the way that Din would massage the area that was causing Boba pain.

“You know,” Boba began, sitting upright on the bed with his legs folded over one another, “the first time I burnt my tongue I was just a kid. I couldn’t sleep, so my father made me a cup of tea. He hadn’t told me it would be so hot, so I drank it with reckless abandon. From the way I was screaming, my father thought that I was dying. I thought so, too. I cried and cried; I was afraid that I would never be able to taste anything ever again.

“Then my father lifted one of his sleeves to show me his arm and he asked me, ‘Do you see this scar here?’ I didn’t see anything, so I told him no. And then he told me that it was because time had passed, and it healed, and eventually my burn would heal, too.

“The next morning when I awoke, I could still feel the injury. I went back to my father, and he rolled up the other sleeve, pointed to a scar, asked me if I could see it. I could, so I told him yes. Then he told me that’s because it had happened not so long ago, and it needed time to heal, but that it eventually would.

“Finally, the next morning, I had completely recovered. I went to my father and asked him if his scar had healed, too. He showed me, and it hadn’t. When I asked him why, he simply shrugged and told me it was because he was older than me.

“I didn’t figure out the actual physiological reason for… well, for longer than I’d like to admit.”

Din laughed, shifting so his head rested on Boba’s thigh. Boba looked down and met Din’s eyes.

“I thought I’d been lulling you to sleep,” Boba sighed. Din just shrugged.

“I wanted to listen. I like hearing you speak, and I like hearing about your father. I didn’t want to fall asleep since you were talking about something important.”

The sentiment struck something in Boba’s chest and stung behind his eyes. Boba really had been speaking just to speak and attempting to put Din to sleep. But the fact that Din placed importance on Boba’s stories was something that he hadn’t expected.

“So how _do_ I put you to sleep?” Boba quickly asked, not wanting to have a full breakdown in front of his partner. He was willing to show a degree of vulnerability that extended only to Din, but this wasn’t one of them.

“How did your father do it?”

Boba sighed, trying his best to hold back the tears that were threatening to burst forth. He ran a hand through Din’s hair to ground himself. Din let forth a small noise of affection at the contact. He had a weakness for having his hair touched.

“Well, after my very poor reaction to the tea, he avoided that particular remedy for a while. He would often tell me stories until I fell asleep to the sound of his voice. Sometimes he’d read out of education modules that were far above me until I was _bored_ into sleep. But I think my favorite was when he sang.”

“Sang?”

“Sang. Old songs about love. The kind of love that happens as soon as you meet, the kind of love you can’t let go of, the kind of love that becomes a shelter for you. I remember the lyrics to a couple. And if I’m being honest, they’re a lot easier to recall when you’re around. Probably because-”

Boba glanced down to see Din staring back at him with wide eyes. They’d expressed fondness for one another plenty of times, openly exchanged “I love you’s,” and overall were aware of how they felt about each other. But there had never been a major declaration of love. At least, not the way Boba felt.

_I’m past the point of no return._

“Well, because that’s how I feel about you. That blinding, complete, passionate, _undying_ love that my father sang about. I never thought that was real. I thought it could only exist in songs. But you came into my life, gave me something to care about that wasn’t my own survival for the first time in Maker knows how long, and _damn it,_ if I don’t love you for it, Din. If it didn’t exist before, it surely does now. All because of you.”

Silent tears were shared by Din and Boba as they took in the confession.

“Boba-”

“Don’t worry, you don’t need to pull a romantic speech out of your ass in return. I just needed to get all that out.”

Din sat up, slipping his arms around Boba’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. Din didn’t need to speak for Boba to know exactly what he was saying. Din was the kind of person who could show expression through beskar and communicate without a word, especially when he was with Boba. It was as if their souls were intertwined.

Boba placed the mug that had been empty since before he had finished his story on the bedside table. He took Din’s head in both hands and slid them down to rest their heads on the pillows beneath them. Their breaths fell in sync as they kept their heads connected and they finally fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> if you can believe it, i came up with this idea because i couldn't fucking sleep lmao  
> i love these two so much, if you can believe it. i hope you like what i have to write for them because i have plenty of ideas for them :)


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